


John Constantine the Shoe-Slut (Part 1)

by CombiningPowers



Series: John Constantine the Shoe-Slut [1]
Category: CombiningPowers, Constantine (TV), Hellblazer, Matt Ryan - Fandom
Genre: BDSM, Bondage, Bukkake, Consent, Cult, Cum on Feet, Drenched in Semen, Feet, Feet worship, Foot Fetish, Foot-Cult, Gangbang, Gargling Cum, Hypnosis, Hypnotised Worshippers, M/M, Messy clothes, Shoe Fucking, Shoes, Smelling Shoes, Sock Fetish, Socks, Tickling, Used and abused, Worshippers, cum, dirty socks, hypno - Freeform, musk, scent, semen - Freeform, shoe fetish, shoe worship, slut, whore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-07-09 05:38:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19882522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CombiningPowers/pseuds/CombiningPowers
Summary: When news of a new underground cult hits the streets, John Constantine takes it upon himself to put an end to thier nefarious, possibly world-ending ritual; finding himself in quite a pinch when they turn their attention towards him. Overflowing with sexual energy from their combined worshipping, the hypnotised cult takes out their shared 'Foot & Shoe Fetish' out on the horny Master of the Dark Arts. Trapped, Bound and in the centre of a creamy gangbang, John learns to simply go with the salty flow ...





	John Constantine the Shoe-Slut (Part 1)

"Hi handsome, Im here for the ritual downstairs," purred a well-dressed John Constantine as he confidently stood in front of the intimidating horned beast before him, straightening out his red tie and unbuttoning a few of the top buttons from his white dress shirt. "Ritual? I dunno what you're talking about. Get lost you shrimp!" feigned the half-human hybrid as he folded his muscular arms together, bulging biceps almost ripping the stretched v-neck that barely covered his imposing, sexy figure. "You sure about that mate? You really wanna take this route? I can make it worth your while once Im finished inside," interjected the blonde demonologist in a sultry tone as he took a very powerful step forward, crashing head-on into the burly creature's physique as he was literally roadblocked. "I said push off creep. I know who's on the list and your skinny ass certainly isn't," yelled the hybrid as he cracked a few of nis knuckles, the sharp sounds of bone grinding into place seeminly echoing around the alley. As annoying as it was to once again have to resort to his little bag of tricks; John couldn't deny that the feel of the other guy's rock-hard pecs slamming into his beautiful, sensitive face was erotic to say the least and under different circumstances, the two would have one hell of a good time.

However, as the 37 year old was standing in the dingy alley for business and not pleasure, the expert conjurer whispered a simple latin chant quickly into his open palm and waved it in front of the magical bouncer; smiling sheepishly as the alluring, powerful beast fell to the dirty ground below, snoring like a bellowing horn. "Why won't they ever just let me seduce them? Much easier and less painful ... most of the time," monologued the man to himself as he carefully stepped over the unconscious hulk of a guard, trying to not further stain his old, completely worn-out pair of Cagney-Oxford leather shoes on the yellow blood that leaked from the sleeping guy's broken nose. His efforts were mostly unsuccessful and his eroded shoes received a generous coating of collected rainwater and mud from a puddle that he failed to anticipate, the man sighing loudly, but also relieved that the puddle hadn't seeped into his already damp and stained socks. Moving on with his adventure, John quickly entered the building, hands outstretched in case he needed to conjure a few fireballs, as he usually did.

The first thing that hit the Master of the Dark Arts was the overpowering smell of formaldehyde, strong and acidic. With every muffled inhalation, the man felt his nostrils swell with a chemical tinge; almost making his brown eyes water. Coughing very gently into his wrist to keep his presence on the down-low, the man continued walking through the crowded corridors before him, making himself as small as possible to not accidentally knock all the clutter off the cheap furniture. After a few minutes of misguided exploration, John began to hear boisterous humming and chanting looming in the distance, following the muffled sounds as it was no doubt where he needed to be. Though the building at first appeared to be an apartment complex or hostel of sorts, the corridors eventually began to widen and connect into what looked like a warehouse or factory; the man walking slowly to not reveal his location. 'What is that language? Not latin, which is quite a change,' thought Constantine to himself as he multi-tasked, hoping to narrow down the type of ritual beforehand as it would undoubtedly give him an edge of sorts.

Finally, he came to the edge of a large and opened doorway, carefully peeking to the right to get a better look. From a quick glance, he could see maybe 20 or so people all standing in a circle, with what appeared to be a coffin in the very centre. Scanning his brain for any clues or past cases, the 37 year old drew a blank, needing to glean information from the group instead. "Brothers, can you feel the change taking place already? Though our leader may have passed onto to the afterlife, his power and strength now courses through our very veins!" projected what must've been the ringleader of the ritual, surprisingly young as John was more accustomed to cults being run by nursing homes rather than supermodels. 'Damn, seems im a bit too late,' grimanced the conjurer to himself, wondering if he should instead gather a few allies first before charging into 20 people without so much as a branch for defence. Though he often preferred to do things on his own, he wasn't expecting such a large crowd, standing up and turning around to leave and prepare himself.

As soon as he faced away from the open doorway, he came face-to-face with the bouncer from before, not even having a second to react before he was grabbed and held against the concrete wall by his fragile neck, kicking and yelling through constricted airways as he was easily lifted off the ground. "Next time, you'd better use something more powerful than a sleeping charm," bellowed the bloody-faced creature as he exacted a bit of revenge, slamming the demonologist like a toy against the hard surface behind him. John winced in pain as his torso violently collided with the wall, before he was thrown back to the cold ground with thunderous force. "Leave us, I shall take over from here," suddenly interrupted the ringleader from earlier, the inquisitive group investigating the ruckus that was taking place only a few metres away from them. The bouncer nodded and left the area back down the winding corridors, Constantine grovelling to himself as the group dragged him further into the building.

-

"John Constantine, I should've known you'd make yourself present," spoke the bearded cult leader as he paced back-and-forth, stroking said beard as he pondered the situation to himself. "Well, I don't remember you and I don't care about your motives, goals and whatever bullshit excuse you have to be using magic for sacrificial rituals," spat the pinned-down captive as he recited the very backbone of his job, not exactly in the mood for whimsical prophecies or heartfelt reasonings when his back throbbed with pain with every heartbeat. "Well, guess I'll skip ahead to the part where we murder you for trespassing," casually mentioned the leader as he turned to face his followers, his face suddenly exclaiming in visible surprise, as if he had just remembered something. "Actually, I think there's something better on the menu. My empowered bretheren have quite a lot of ... tension after absorbing the life-essence of my predecessor," announced the creepy man, clapping his hands together.

Immediately, John was lifted up by four or five of the members as the others made their arrangements of sorts, gathering items from around the area. With his hands and legs firmly grasped, the 37 year old was unable to properly cast spells or unleash his magic; hell he couldn't even reach the pepper-spray that he kept in his trench-coat pocket. "Seriously lads, this is all fun and games but surely you know that you're not gonna get away with all of this," threatened the raised man as he tried to wiggle free, surprised at just how strong and invigorated the affected followers were. Slowly before him, a large table was dragged out and without further wait, John found himself being lowered onto its smooth surface; still unsure as to what they had planned. Held down by several pairs of hands, his limbs were stiffly tied to the four table-legs; a primitive but effective way of keeping the sneaky demonologist at bay. "So, is this when you bring out the carving knife? Pull out my heart and take a bite!" hissed the bound man with an adrenaline rush, assured that he would think of something at the last moment, as he normally did.

The leader shook his head and instead pulled down his zipper, unleashing his pent-up manhood from its sweaty cloth confines. The group of 20 or so men all did the same without expression or hesitation, John looking around in bewilderment as he was swarmed with an army of delicious, throbbing cocks. His piercing brown eyes were the size of dinner-plates as he vigorously eyed the huge buffet of man-meat that surrounded him, the familiar musky scent of sweaty men already filling the air around him. Their penises varied between size, girth, the number of veins, foreskin presence but regardless, the horny conjurer was eager to get in on the raunchy, lewd action. "If I knew this was what you guys were doing, I would've volunteered to join you from the beginning," chimed the ecstatic man as he licked his lips, preparing his mouth and jaw to swallow as many spears as he could fathom. He knew that there was probably some ulterior motive, some demonic presence in the background; but for the moment, he couldn't care less and just wanted to indulge himself in some hot gangbang action with a group of strangers.

The group leader took a step forward and rested his pusing weapon across Constantine's face, the bound man salivating like a starving mutt as he waited to suck the bearded man dry. "My brothers, let us release our newly gifted essence upon this unworthy harlot, be sure to douse his heretical shell in your rejuvinated seed," announced the towering figure as he 'allowed' John to nuzzle his 8" cock, moaning as soon as he sunk his sword into the blonde sheath before him. Though he was a little insulted by the colourful language used, John's complaints were permanently put to rest as he dedicated himself to the thick spear that now occupied his supple mouth, groaning and twisitng his neck rapidly in an attempt to swallow as much of it as possible. He was an expert cock-sucker and proved to personally challenge himself with the group of men, eager to leave the warehouse with as much of their semen on his clothes and body as physically possible.

The salty, sweet taste of pre-cum swirled around his mouth as he blew the bearded ringleader, loud slurps emerging from his maw as he savoured every drop. Around him, the others also closed the distance and it wasn't long before the tied-down man couldn't even see the concrete walls of the building around him anymore, not that it mattered in the slightest. Their once expressionless faces were now twisted in pleasure as they touched themselves and rested their quivering organs on his outstretched arms and legs. Already he could feel puddles of pre-cum begin to soak through his pants and sleeves, though that was nothing a quick trip to the dry-cleaners couldn't fix. He felt incredibly hot and sweaty as their bodies formed a 'wall' around him, trapping their steaming selves and turning the table into a makeshift sauna. John loved every single second of the experience, moaning as loudly as he could and inviting the men to use him as they pleased with his suggestive eye movements.

Though he wished he wasn't exactly nailed to the table, the feeling of the ropes on his ankles and wrists, locking him in place was quite erotic to say the least. Still, it would mean they would have to come to him rather than the other way around, which luckily, they did. In both of his hands he could already feel two or three cocks all fighting for the soft but powerful grasp of his palms, the skin already sticky with pre-cum as they wrestled. Grabbing onto one member in each hand and feigning to let go, John began to stroke, while also wrapping his tongue around the veiny manhood that was now thrusting deeper down his throat. Small gagging sounds emerged from his slutty orifice as he took every additional inch of the delicious meat; his tastebuds celebrating as they were gifted with the strong taste of a raw, manly shaft. "Our former leader provies us with his desires, wants and wis-" moaned the bearded face-fucker before he was interrupted by Constantine's pure talent and ability, unable to complete his sentence as his 8" member simply disappeared down the experienced, well-used canal.

John, sick of all the talk and monologues pushed himself to the limit, eagerly shoving himself into the veiny organ and skewering his head on it. With every raspy breath he took, his airways crushed and squeezed the member inside, driving the leader into a maddening state, overcome with pure pleasure and ecstasy. "YES! DRAIN ME!" screamed the man in sexual heat as he nestled his meat in the ultimate fleshlight, almost suffering a seizure as his snake was tamed. The blonde man was simply eager for a healthy dose of thick, creamy cum in his stomach and continued to bob his head along the length with incredible stamina, eyes fluttering as he neared his own limit. However, just when he thought his efforts were about to be rewarded, the bearded man suddenly removed himself from John's warm, wet mouth and ran away; literally ran away. "What the fuck?" exclaimed Constantine as he did his best to sit up on the table, stopping his other naughty activities as he tried to follow the cowardly leader.

The man had ran to the opposite end of the furniture, knocking a few of the other members to the side all while rabidly stroking his cock to full completion. Confused as to what just happened, John could only watch as the man seemingly 'finished' himself off all over his shoes and ankles; thick white ropes of cum now slathering his worn-out leather footwear. "Was my mouth not good enough for your cum?" interjected the demonologist with confusion, eyeing his feet from his current position and grimacing as he watched a few hefty droplets of the milky mixture slide down his cracked soles and stained laces. The other members seemed to take great interest in the 'event' and were eyeing one another with great intent and curiosity. Some, who were already near completion themselves, copied their influential benefactor and also gave John's shoes a thick bukkake, moaning loudly like savages as they aimed every single spurt on John's old leather shoes.

The 37 year old was immensely befuddled, but was unable to properly think as another one of the cult members took their leaders place, shoving themselves eagerly into the unused mouth. Simply brushing the prior 'shoe focus' as some quirky rule, the bound conjurer went back to enjoying himself, distracting his mind with the prospect of more cocks begin shoved around his face. His wrists were slowly freed from their restraints at this point and John immediately used the extra freedom and mobility to grab as much dick as possible, stroking them without care for his aching biceps and triceps. The cock occupying his dribbling maw was soon joined by another and Constantine did the best that he could to fit both of their organs inside his hot cave; moaning as he felt them push against his tongue and gums with increasing force.

-

He couldn't remember the last time he had joined in some naughty group fun and the event encircling around him only furthered his love and adoration of men and their perverted, sexual desires. To see, smell, hear and taste all the wonderful sensations of a raunchy gangbang, almost bought a tear to the blonde man's half-closed eye; though that was probably due to the penis tug-of-war happening right in his face. As he was thoroughly occupied with the two members in his mouth and the two wet spears in his hands, John had no idea that the other men who were either unable to hold back their restraints or simply preferred to watch; had been ejaculating all over his shoes and feet. Constantine only found out when he felt a certain 'heaviness' suddenly appear on his resting legs, coupled with a few dribs and drabs of cum that had managed to push itself through the several cracks and bends in the worn leather.

Pausing and spitting the two hot, sweaty weapons from his drool-filled maw, the curious man sat up once again and peered down the length of the polished wooden table, cocking an eyebrow at the creamy 'damage' that had been unleashed while he was too busy sucking and stroking dick. The pale and bleached brown leather could barely be seen as it was cascaded and drowned in a frothy sea of copious cum; the heel and undersole barely visible at all. "What's going on? Why the fascination with the kicks?" pondered the man through garbled coughs, taking the time to swallow the thick micture of saliva, pre-cum and cum before speaking once more. His perspiring audience were either deaf or purposefully ignoring him as they carried on about their erotic business, one of the keen members rudely adding a fresh coat of paint to both of the drenched platforms without a care in the world.

Soon, the facade and illusion from earlier began to fade as the conjurer felt a tinge of unease begin to build inside his gut; his clients blank, puppet-like behaviour now morphing from eccentric to creepy. Trying to fully sit-up in a swift motion to undo the rope that was still firmly tied around both of his ankles, John was given a harsh and sudden shove back; his head hitting the table with jarring force. "OW Fuck me," exclaimed the man as he tried to rub the back of his swollen head, unable to do so as his wrists were once again bound to the table-legs, this time with an even tighter knot. Dizzy and a little bit off-centre, the dazed demonologist could barely resist as the cult continued to use his body for their own pleasurable means, queing up and shoving each other for a chance to use his sweet, hot mouth.

With his lips and jaw held apart, the two previously occupying men returned to finish the job, thrusting themselves deep down into his throat. John choked and sputtered as they were forced down towards his airways but was powerless to stop them properly. As he was brutually face-fucked, the rest of the virile members went back to their earlier focus, stroking themselves like mad for the opportunity to add their thick load to the newly-founded 'shrine' of sorts. Though he knew he should've been focussing on escaping, the 37 year old's mind was solely preoccupied by the new and puzzling stimulation that was occuring around his feet.

The sheer volume of cum that had been dumped and emptied on his feet had forced its way through the damaged material, effectively leaking into the insole like rainwater through a rusted roof. Slowly but surely, he felt the thick, warm trail of slime-like semen travel down his shoes from the toes to the base, slathering and marinating his dirty, sweaty socks that were powerlessly wriggling. The batter around his toes was so copious and dense that it almost immediately penetrated the cotton material, sinking through and coating the gaps between his flicking toes. With every subtle movement, more and more of the salty mixture made its way inside, as if it had a life on its own.

He felt incredibly weird and warm as the unwanted substance settled in and around his bound feet, his slimy socks now thoroughly sticking to his sweaty, damp feet. Everytime another one of the masturbating individials came, he felt an added tinge of warm as the fresh semen drippe through the cracks in his shoes, a small amount already pooling around his ankle, unable to further soak the dirty socks. It was unusual to say the least and the face-fucked conjurer felt as if he had stepped in a thick and sticky slime at the banks of a marsh; though it was warm and wet regardless of how much time had passed.

Knocked out of his hazy moment as he felt a tide of saliva and pre-cum finally surge down his pressurised throat, John was relieved that the two men thrusting into his mouth had decidedly removed themselves, to finish on his feet, no doubt. Looking up with a brow full of sweat, the 37 year old was a little nervous as they started to remove the shoes from his feet, literally prying them off of him as the suction from the wet, moist interior played its part. Making sure to not 'spill' any of the already accumulated cum from both of the idolised pieces of footwear, John's face turned blue as they began to pass them around; a few of the members from before desperately squeezing out an additional squirt of their semen.

Satisfied, the two men, each holding one of the prized possessions, made their way back to Constantine's side of the table, their faces twisted in what looked like sexual eagerness. "No, get those fucking things away from me," fought John as he tried to pry himself away from the arrangement, held down by his shoulders by another creepy affiliate. Prying his jaw open, the two men tipped the creamy contents of both the shoes into his mouth, making sure to not to spill a single tainted drop. John's eyes winced in fury as he was force-fed an odorous sample of cum, doing his best to swallow as soon as possible to rid himself of the taste. The cum tasted like his dirty socks were mixed with a copious amount of salt that tasted as if it were licked off a tiled floor; which is essentially what it was. Gagging and bellowing in discomfort at the idea, his angry yells of disgust were further agitated when one of his old, dank shoes were thrust into his open mouth; like a makeshift gag.

Immediately spitting the footwear out of his mouth, he was met with another more forceful attempt, the brainwhashed member essentially holding the cum-soaked show and jamming it downwards, putting John in quite a predicamnet. The excess cum that hadn't managed to seep in through the holes and cracks came pouring into his mouth, adding another great volume of semen ontop of his last cocktail. His tongue and tastebuds felt numb and icky as they were plagued with the strong and overwhelming taste of dirt, sweat, musky odours and whatever else had accumulated in/on his socks and insoles. Constantine could barely speak as he tried to make the sensations dissipate, forced to essentially clean and polish his own mangy footwear with his tongue. He felt broken and humiliated as he did so, his cum-soaked socks practically pooling onto the table.

Speaking of, the bottom-half of his body was just as lively as his top-half as a few of the more restrained men saw their chance to finally get themselves off. He didn't know it but by struggling and wriggling as he did, his erotic and wet feet were all the stimulation the men needed, eager to douse the size-11 thumpers with more and more of their creamy batter. Every toe flick he made was followed by a loud and squelchy sound as the river of cum was twitched around and in-between his digits; sounding like melted chocolate that was vigorously stirred with a spoon. His heels and ankles felt particualrly warm as the fresh semen poured its way down like an army of slimy snails, thoroughly coating his base in its entirety.

John was pissed, grossed out and most importantly, no longer horny as the ordeal carried onwards, the 'spent' men standing off to the side and watching him, like he was some form of art exhibit. The counjurer, doing his best to avoid the shoe that was still being shoved into his throat, clawed desperately for some form of escape. He didn't know if it was one of his charms around his bracelet or the universe giving him a break after all he gone through, but his right arm soon managed to shake itself loose. Freed and playing it quick, John took a brutal swing at the embellished man towering over him and knocked him to the side, quickly spitting his own cleaned shoe out of his mouth. With only a few seconds to spare before someone intervened, the Master of the Dark Arts held his palm towards the group and chanted a small phrase, smirking as a bright flash of light emerged from his fingertips.

The entire cult dropped to the floor like electrocuted animals huddling under a tree during a storm, knocked unconscious by the spell's powerful magic aura. Knowing he only had a few minutes before they all came too, John hastily freed his other hand and then sat-up completely with a satisfying grunt, moving onto his legs. "Jesus Fuck," commented the man as he eyed his bukkake'd socks and feet, unable to even process the sight. The amount of semen that had drenched the dirty socks was enough to fit into a small bucket. Though he wanted nothing more than a fresh pair of shoes and a hot shower to wash away the sin, he knew he very little time, wincing as he untied his ankles from the dirtied, tainted table surface.

"Ok, just for a few blocks where you can get changed, this is ok," encouraged the man to himself as he squeezed back into his previously removed shoes, biting his lip as the cold, wet feeling from before was exacerbated over a hundred times over. He felt as though he was wearing two creampied fleshlights over his feet, but it wasn't like he could properly make his escape barefoot. Shoving his feet in as harshly as he could, John swore he could see a small amount of the white cream begin to spill out of the opening of his shoes, dribbling down the back and into the laces like a hosed fountain pump. Shaking his head and looking around to make sure he was still the only one conscious, the depraved and uncomfortable demonologist made his escape, hoping that the area of the building he was in hadn't heard of surveillance cameras, for his benefit of course.

-

"Just keep walking, find yourself a cab or something, you'll be fine. No one can notice," whispered the blonde escapee as he made his way through the numerous alleys of the city, not looking back in case he was being followed. His hair was messy and greasy, his clothes were rumpled and stained but of course, his shoes and pants that covered or even brushed against his shoes was creamy and noticeably stained. Every step he took was followed by several different things, all coalescing into one strange sensation. First, he heard a loud and squishy squelching sound, as if he had been running in flip-flops after a quick dip in the pool. It was incredibly piercing and as he was essentially power-walking away with quite a bit of stomping power in his legs, it wouldn't surprise him if anyone within a 50m radius could hear as well. Second was the engulfing feeling as the excess cum was squeezed out of the bottom his socks and 'pushed' up the walls of the inside. Normally, people would be used to accidentally stepping in a river or lake, but becuase the multi-provided mixture was frothy and thick as honey, it was strange to say the least. Third and most importantly, he was leaving cummy footprints behind as the broken, leaking sides of his old shoes failed to entrap everything within. They had been particularly strong and identifiable when he first navigaed the building's interior, but still, small white patches in the shape of his size-11 feet were haunting him wherever he went.

Coughing and gargling as much clean saliva as he could produce, the 37 year old attempted to wash the powerful scent and taste that was still lingering in his mouth; wishing he had a bottle of water or something inside his trenc-coat pockets. His gums and teeth were still coated with the enriched fluid and every so often, the tinge of sand, gravel or dirt from the inserts in his footwear would make themselves present. The man, for the first time in his life, was sick of semen as he received flashbacks of them pouring the sludge down his tubes, shivering as he recounted the events of 30 minutes prior. "Fucking Foot cult, goddamn demon blood rituals are less gruesome than them," complained the man with a low mutter, wondering why he hadn't called anyone to just come pick him up. Slapping his forehead with stupidity, the man reached down into his pocket to retrieve his phone; a little surprised when he couldn't feel it in its usual spot. Turning back around in case it had fell out during his cum-sock hike, John suddenly eyed the bearded ringleader from before, running like a madman towards him.

Not wasting any time whatsoever, John took off in the opposite direction, grimacing as he almost 'slipped' on the wet insides of his own shoes, his feet now thoroughly lubricated. Though he was quite fit and agile for his age due to his slender but strong build, John's predaliction to cigarettes meant that his lungs couldn't properly keep up with the rest of his body; slightly wheezing already as he turned a few corners. "Fuck. This. Day" whispered the man between panting breaths as he went to charge a magical trap, willing to cause some serious damage if it meant he could get off the runaway train before it crashed. "Not so fast," quipped the bearded man who seemingly materialised out of thin air, making a similar gesture from before and dazing John; the demonologist falling to the ground, stricken with possibly the worst headache of all time. "Jesus ... what? Ouch," mumbled the trippy man to himself as he tried to focus on his surroundings, everything appearing like a hangover-induced blur. "You think I don't know these alleyways like the back of my hand? You really are something," mocked the bearded individual as he towered over his captured prey, a devilish smile lacing his lips.

The cult leader's smile only grew as he eyed the 'damage' that him and his followers had enacted on the 37 year old's feet and shoes, licking his lips at the erotic sight. "The energy we absorbed from our past leader instilled us with not only his lifeforce, but a number of his ... personal desires as well," monologued the standing figure as he began to unbutton his pants, his full erection springing up and out of the slit. Trying to stop the ringing in his ears that sounded like church-bells clanging in a hurricane, John was pretty powerless as the man bent down and grabbed him by his ankles, a doll or plaything in the clutches of its Master. "Although I may not share the same ... intensity as my benefactor, it seems only right that I carry out his best interests," continued the squatting ringleader as he angled himself into position, showing increased strength and vigor in comparison to his earlier encounter.

Constantine could only watch through hazy eyes as the man began to rub his engorged, veiny penis agaisnt his battered, beaten shoes, grimacing as he watched the bare sensitive flesh come into contact with the cum-laced surface that was not also sprinkled with sand and dirt from the alley. "My Master shall have what he wants, the supple, rugged feet of the impure," chanted the bearded man as he seeminglt fell into a trance of sorts, closing his eyes and throwing his head back as he thrust his pulsing member against his captured prey's disgusting footwear. Held by his ankles with the what felt like the weight of two anchors, John felt the man jamming his manhood between his two shoes, loud moans and groans emanating from the possessed figure as he gave himself a messy footjob. John tried to say something but was overcome with a ringing pain in the back of his head, biting his lip to the point that he could almost taste blood as he tried to level himself off.

"My Master shall cleanse, My Master shall purify," chortled the crazed individual as he took a new approach after a few minutes of penis-to-shoe rubbing, sweat forming on his brow and crotch as he delved deeped down the possessive rabbit-hole. "What are ... you doing," slurred the 37 year old as he felt fingers begin to stretch and enlarge the already present holes and cracks in his footwear, the vibrations from the action also travelling to his semen-soaked socks and feet. John received no vocal answer but did watch as the ringleader began to plunge his thick cock into the largest of the 'openings' on his right shoe, cringing as he felt the insanely warm, fiery organ press against the slick, cold flesh of his foot. "The fire and heat shall brun away the darkness," prattled the bearded puppet as he continued to thrust himself into the makeshift 'fleshlight' of sorts, John's face twisted in shock as he felt the spear push and slide against his cum-drenched foot, unsure of what to make of the situation.

The pungent odour and aroma of the bukkake remnants filled his nose as the foor-fucking continued, giving the used man the most guilt erection of his life. Though he was by no means properly enjoying himself in the traditional sense, waves of pleasure did seem to pulse as the huge, throbbing meat pressed against his sensitive feet. His prodded toes brimmed with ecstasy, his heel was ticklish in all the right ways; needless to say, it was weird, but oddly good. A few minutes passed and unsurprisingly, John's broken and worn shoe finally but the bullet, spilitting into two pieces as it was thoroughly wrecked. Though he wasn't sad at the loss of one of his shoes, mainly because he had put off buying a new pair for years now, John did wonder what would happen next as the possesed foot connoissour planned his next move.

"You shall be baptised in my glorious semen and be on your way," continued the bearded leader as he eyed the creamy sock and foot that was now presented to him, pulling off the other shoe and throwing it to the side. John, desperate for an end to the strange and surreal experience, nodded slightly, knowing that he probably had the most power in the situation, given that his feet and socks were the focus of the cult's agenda. Raising his legs to a comfortable position, Constantine began to flick and wriggle his slimy toes, rubbing his soles together and teasing to the best of his ability. Wet sloppy sounds emerged from his size-11 thumpers as he carried on with his cum-soaked performance, holes and broken fabric dotting the two socks from wear and tear; allowing small peeks of his damp and incredibly salty flesh to shine through.

The bearded man was thoroughly hynotised and driven into a wild rut as the foreplay marched onwards, once again grabbing the man's ankles and pressing them together, parting the heels apart ever so slightly to make for the tightest of gaps. Breathing heavily and sweating profusely, he inserted his cock in the narrow passageway, moaning as he felt the cum of his followers and the saturated socks press into his sensitve member. "You like that? Having my kicks wrapped around your thick rod?" dirty-talked John as he began to move his legs in a sliding manner, making sure to maintain the same force and pressure as he started the sock footjob. The action was incredibly easy as the salty cream from before made for an excellent lubricant, slick and loud slurps emerging from the bonding site with every subtle movement. The 37 year old could feel the intense heat through his soaked socks and applied even greater force, warming and massaging his own soles at the same time.

John was now in his element, always feeling the most comfortable and confident when he was the one in control, pleasuring and helping men and monsters get off. Though he may not have had a foot fetish to the same extent as the man before him in his grasp, the position he was in was erotic to say the least and needless to say, the smell of cum in the air was now graciously accepted once again. Feeling a small burn in his leg muscles as he pumped away, Constantine tried his best to wrap and hook his wet toes around the veiny organ, mostly unsuccessful but the extra pressure was thoroughly appreciated. He felt dirty and depraved, using his completely trashed and ruined socks to get someone else on the corner of an alley, but it did beat having his drenched shoes being shoved down his throat; the salty aftertaste still lingering in the back of his throat. As one of his many talents, the 37 year old could tell that the man wedged between his slimy, creamy feet was close to finishing, quickening the pace and intensite of his makeshift footjob.

"OH HEAVENS, FUCK!" screamed the man as he backed away slightly, out of the incredibly tight passage between John's paws, expelling his second load with an extreme sense of urgency. The blonde demonologist watched as ropes and squirt of rich, hot cum slathered his toes and socks, dripping down the front and backs of both his feet as if someone was emptying a gallon of milk on them. His toes were marianted and drenched in a second, thicker layer of cream, the brown and discoloured sections of his grimy socks disapearing under the fresh coat of white. John himself could feel his own boner profusely leaking pre-cum as the sensitive flesh on both of his feet were stimulated in such an erotic sense, the cum simply pouring down and out without rest or prejudice. What felt like minutes of constant ejaculation soon came to pass and the bearded ringleader fell down into a deep sleep, finally given rest now that he had fulfilled his duty.

Though he was unsure of what to make of the entire situation, Constantine had a feeling that he would be re-creating this fantasy in the future, though maybe this time without the 'drinking 20 guys loads from your shoes' aspect. Then again, anything was possible at this point.


End file.
